


Lambs

by Medie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Community: fandom_stocking, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-07
Updated: 2011-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alice, John was sure, had never been woken up at an ungodly hour of the morning with random questions about increasingly gruesome methods of murder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lambs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [juri_anne](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=juri_anne).



The thing about sharing a flat with Sherlock Holmes was that, well, it was bloody _complicated_. Really. Absolutely and, quite literally, bloody complicated. There were days John was convinced he'd tripped and gone headlong down a rabbit hole that made Alice's look like a child playing up.

Alice, John was sure, had never been woken up at an ungodly hour of the morning with random questions about increasingly gruesome methods of murder. The last had involved a hanging, a rabbit's foot, and a rather impossible amount of gin.

Scratching his head, he pressed his lips together and tried to put it into words. Somehow, though, he didn't quite think he needed to. Not with the way Lestrade was grinning at him. Been there, done that, he supposed.

"—I don't—that is—" John sighed. "Right, this is me, gobsmacked."

In a gesture that was quite magnanimous by John's lights, Lestrade refrained from snickering and, instead, ordered him another pint.

The man was a _saint_.

"Just sorting it all out, are you?" Lestrade said, reaching for his own. "Wondered when that'd happen."

"You might've warned me," John said, not meaning a word of the complaint. All right, so he might've appreciated a bit of a warning about the liver which had replaced the eyes in the microwave—the one that she'd seemed to have forgotten about or, worse, was waiting to develop sentience—somewhere along the line.

Not to mention her propensity for ignoring anything that resembled societal norms.

"She walked about the flat nude yet?" Lestrade asked, with nary even a glimmer of mischief in his eye. Forget saint. The man was the devil come to life.

Choking, John felt a stab of something that might've been envy. "You've—she—Christ!"

At that, Lestrade did laugh a little. "No, I have not," he said, though something about it suggested he wouldn't mind at all. John couldn't blame him. Sherlock was—well, not precisely beautiful, but she was stunning in her way and _god_ , he wasn't supposed to be thinking like this. "Almost, but no."

"Well, no, me either," John said. "At this point, I wouldn't be surprised at all though." He shook his head. "If I didn't know she had a brother, I'd say the woman had been raised by wolves."

"Don't take that as evidence," Lestrade said. "I've met the man and there's a case to be made there too."

"Point," John nodded. "You as well, then?"

Lestrade put down his glass. "Went to sleep, woke up in a warehouse, you?"

"Left a crime scene and answered a phone," John rubbed his leg, watching the pub's patrons move about. Sherlock would be in her glee with this lot. He made a mental note for next time she was bored. They'd need a bigger pub, though. Anyone overheard her and it'd be a scrap for sure. "Ended up in a warehouse at the end of it."

"See?" Lestrade shrugged. "Wolves, the both of them."

John nodded. "And what's that make us?"

Lestrade saluted with his glass, grinning as he said, "Lambs to the slaughter, mate. Lambs to the slaughter."


End file.
